


baby for you I would fall from grace

by swordfightingprincess



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Angst, F/M, give anya a hug, superhero au, this is very loosely structured and self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27751381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordfightingprincess/pseuds/swordfightingprincess
Summary: "Getting there late was strike one, losing sight of Dmitry was strike two, and now as everything descended into even more chaos around her, Anya could feel strike three barrelling towards her at lightning speed"ORwhen hero's fall, who's there to pick them up?
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	baby for you I would fall from grace

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends, this is brought to you by reputation by taylor swift (for inexplicable reasons) and is very self-indulgent.

_They’d gotten there late, and that had been strike one. Anya had already lost Dmitry in the crowds of people and smoke and as much as she wanted to fly higher to try and find him she had other priorities._  
  
 _Another gunshot rings out, this one burying itself in the side of a car near Anya. Ears ringing, she rises a few feet into the air and heads in the direction the bullet came from. Whoever fired it has melted back into the chaos, and Anya is pulled aside to try and get civilians to safety. Everyone is screaming and the sirens of the approaching fire trucks only serve to make everything more disorienting._  
  
 _Getting there late was strike one, losing sight of Dmitry was strike two, and now as everything descended into even more chaos around her, Anya could feel strike three barrelling towards her at lightning speed._  
  
~  
  
Sirens are still wailing hours later, the air still thick with smoke. Anya pulls her hoodie tighter around her and counts all the buildings that bear visible damage. There are too many.  
  
"The elevator was broken, you're lucky I love you enough to take the stairs."  
  
Anya doesn't turn around, but she can picture exactly what's behind her. Dmitry, probably a little winded from running up a skyscraper's worth of stairs, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He's probably standing a few feet behind her, waiting for her to talk first. She doesn't.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye Anya watches Dmitry sit down a few feet to her right, eyes trained on the same destruction hers are.  
  
"Just because you can fly doesn't mean we all can. It would be a lot easier for me if you would at least pick buildings with working elevators," he says. His tone is light, but when Anya finally turns to look at him, his face is wrought with concern. "Elevator's aren't a deal breaker though," he says, softly. "You know I'd follow you up hundreds of stairs."  
  
Anya bites her lip and turns back towards the chaos. "Do they know how many people are dead?"  
  
"This isn't your fault Anya." Dmitry's voice is soft, and Anya hates it.  
  
A million thoughts run rapid fire through her head. _But if it isn't my fault whose is it? I was the one who fucked up today, I'm the reason people are dead and hurt and missing. I was supposed to have this under control, I was supposed to save people, of course it's my fault_.  
  
Anya doesn't even realise she's shaking until she feels Dmitry's hand resting gently on her shoulder. She hates that even more. He squeezes gently and lets his hand fall back to his side.  
  
Dmitry's saying something about human fallibility, about how they share the blame and how she shouldn't punish herself. He voices every thought that's running through her mind and all she can do is curl up into a ball and try not to fall apart.  
  
It's not like this is the first time they haven't managed to save everyone. Casualties are inevitable and so is property damage, but victory feels hollow when all Anya can think about are the things she didn't quite get right. Every time they lose more than they win Anya vows never to let it happen again, and somehow it does. She always fails again and it always feels worse.  
  
Dmitry, to his credit, knows when not to push. They sit there, on the roof of a building Anya chose for it's height for hours, until long after night has fallen over smokey skies.  
  
"What are the headlines saying?" It's a risky question, and Anya isn't even sure she wants to know the answer. She doesn't know why she asked.  
  
"Depends. Some are saying we did out best, that we showed up like we always do and that that's a good thing."  
  
Anya can hear everything he isn't saying. She turns towards him, wanting to know no matter how much it hurts. "What else?"  
  
"Some of them are pretty bad."  
  
Anya nodded, trying hard to keep her breathing even. She doesn't know what she expected. Throughout the years she'd learned not to read the news about them, even the good stuff. Today was about as bad as it gets, and the evidence of their— _her—_ fuck up was everywhere, so as tempting as it was to give in and wallow in defeat, she knew looking at the news was off the table.  
  
Beside her, Dmitry opens his mouth to speak and Anya wondered if he was about to tell her exactly that.  
  
"Remember San Francisco?"  
  
"Yes," she whispers, voice hoarse. And she does remember, she remembers the screaming, and the blood and the endless list of things that went wrong. She remembers finding Dmitry holding onto a kid he'd tried to save, now dead in his arms. They'd been young, unaccustomed to how brutal trying to be heroes could be.  
  
"You pulled me back from the edge. You were the one who reminded me that saving one person is better than saving none, and that we're always better if we can pick ourselves up the next day, that I can't blame myself for everything we couldn't do."  
  
If Anya could go back to 2012, if she could get a second shot at San Francisco she'd do it differently. She knows they'd win, and it's thoughts like that that keep her up at night. Her fingernails press sharp marks into her palms.  
  
"I'd do it again."  
  
Her voice is scratchy, barely more than a whisper but it was the one thing she was sure of. She would always be there to keep him steady, and somewhere deep inside her she knows he'd do the same.  
  
Anya reaches out and weaves their hands together. Dmitry shifts closer until she can feel him breathing against her side. This was safe, she thinks, this is the one thing I can’t mess up.  
  
“What now?”  
  
Beside her Dmitry stands, offering her his hand to help her up. “We go home, and tomorrow we keep going.”  
  
~  
  
 _They take the stairs down. The out of order sign tacked on the elevator at the bottom feels commonplace and oddly comforting. Even when the city is a disaster and her life feels like it’s falling apart, elevators still break, and boys will climb twenty stories worth of stairs to make sure she doesn’t break._  
  
 _They walk back to their building in the dark, Dmitry holding tight to Anya’s hand. The law enforcement still swarming the city keep them on edge, but it’s nice to pretend that for a little while, they’re a normal couple taking a 2 am walk, and not two people with the expectations of a country on their shoulders to always be there to ‘save the day’ among a million other things._  
  
 _She’ll let herself fall apart later, let herself cry over the people whose blood is on her hands, and Dmitry will be there when she needs him, just like she will when he needs her. Above everything else, saving each other is what they do._

**Author's Note:**

> come say [hi](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/alexisrcses)


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